Catastrophe
by Sandpiper1
Summary: Draco is turned into a cat by a dead-drunk wizard. Hermione rescues him from some stray dogs and keeps him as a pet, without knowing who he really is. Will Draco ever get back to normal? And what will happen when he does?


Catastrophe

By Sandpiper

This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by none other than the goddess, JK Rowling. The plot and everything else you don't recognize from the acclaimed Harry Potter series belong to me, of course, and using them without my permission is punishable by death ;-) No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

I thought it was about time I gave writing fanfiction a shot, so I came up with this admittedly very wacky idea. I'm a Draco/Hermione shipper, but I realized that it would take a miracle to get them to even be able to tolerate each other's presence. I decided to leave the miracles to God (or possibly JKR… you never know ^_~) and work with something more within my reach--- magic.

Constructive criticism and suggestions are very much welcome, but please, no flames. I hope all of you enjoy reading my story. Ta-ta for now! Ü

Chapter One

It was seven o' clock in the evening, and the Malfoy family was having supper. A gold chandelier hung from the ceiling, ablaze with a thousand small candles that bathed the opulent dining room in brilliant golden light. Lucius sat at the head of the table, with Narcissa to his right and Draco to his left. The table was long, made of oak, polished to a gleam that rivaled that of diamonds, and could have easily accommodated fifteen people. At present, it seated only three.

Draco absentmindedly stirred the thick cream of mushroom soup in his porcelain bowl, glancing at his parents, wishing they would say something other than the occasional, "Please pass the gravy." The food was rich and warm, but the silence was as cold as stone.

On impulse, Draco asked, "How was your day, Father?" His voice sounded stilted and awkward, even to his own ears.

Lucius' ice gray gaze lifted from the filet mignon on his plate to his only son. "Fine," he responded crisply. "And yours?"

"All right."

Lucius gave a brisk nod, then returned his attention to his dinner. The short conversation ended as painfully and abruptly as it had begun.

Draco sighed, wondering if he should attempt to talk to Narcissa. One look at the haughty expression on her beautiful face made him decide against it. _I can't remember the last time I saw Mother laugh or even smile, _he thought, feeling suddenly sorry for himself. __

_What the bloody hell? _He straightened in his seat, forcibly pushing away the sadness in his heart. He was a Malfoy; Malfoys did not wallow in self-pity. Pitying one's own self was a shameless act no Malfoy should stoop to.

A loud, cheery hoot cut through the silence like a knife, and a large owl with fluffy brown feathers flew into the dining room and dropped an envelope directly into Draco's lap.

"That is probably your Hogwarts letter, Draco," said Narcissa coldly, eyeing the circling owl with distaste. She hated animals.

"Probably," muttered Draco, watching, mesmerized, as the owl soared out the window. How he wished he could fly like that! How he wished he could be free…

Lucius cleared his throat, an authoritative sound that jerked Draco out of his musings and turned his attention to the envelope. "Open it, son," ordered his father. "Then we shall see if you have made us proud."

Draco understood what Lucius meant. There would be hell to pay if he wasn't Head Boy.

With trembling fingers he tried desperately to control, Draco opened the envelope. He scanned Professor McGonagall's message… the list of books and school supplies… Where was it? Where was the letter telling him he was Head Boy? His heart slammed madly against his ribcage and his blood froze as he frantically searched for something that was not there.

"Draco…" Lucius' voice was as smooth as silk, but Draco knew his father well enough to know he was angry. "Where is your Head Boy letter?"

"It's not here," Draco replied softly, staring at the wisps of steam rising from his soup, unable to meet either of his parent's gazes.

Narcissa slammed her spoon down just as Lucius stood up and pounded his fist on the table. "What is the meaning of this?" he roared, shaking with rage. "Why are you not Head Boy?"

"How should I know?" Draco snapped. "Why don't you ask the teachers? They're the ones who decide stuff like that."

"Obviously your grades were too low," Narcissa declared, watching her son through narrowed blue eyes. "Which means you weren't trying your best."

"But, Mother, I was!" Draco angrily protested.

"Your best wasn't good enough!" Lucius yelled, looking as though he might burst a blood vessel. Having heard the commotion and knowing something was wrong, several house-elves rushed into the room.

"Back to the kitchens, all of you," Narcissa ordered them sharply. They looked at Lucius' face, his gray eyes glinting dangerously, and immediately disappeared.

"How could you do this to us? Your mother and I gave you everything you asked for, Draco! The best clothes, the best wand, the best broomstick… _everything! _I even got you on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and how do you repay me? By not winning the Cup! By not seeing the Snitch even though it was practically in front of your face! By letting that Potter beat you in every single game!

And now… now, you're not even Head Boy. A Malfoy, not Head Boy. What a joke! You do realize that you are the first in our family not to have gotten this esteemed position? You are a failure, a disgrace to this family!"

"Lucius!" Narcissa gasped. Even she was shocked by her husband's vehement outburst.

Draco was as white as a sheet by the time his father finished his tirade. His chair scraped against the marble floor as he stood up, fists clenched. "That's all you care about, isn't it, Father? The family name? You don't love me at all, do you? _Do you?!_"

His question was met with silence, a heavy silence that confirmed his worst fears and felt like a sledgehammer blow to his very soul.

"Well, what a coincidence!" he cried. "Because I don't love you, either!"

Narcissa sprang from her seat and went to her only son, grabbing both his shoulders. "Don't say that, Draco," she pleaded. "Your father and I just want you to be successful. We want you to be…" What sounded suspiciously like a sob escaped from her throat. "We want you to be… more than you've ever wanted yourself to be."

"That's a load of dung, Mother!" Draco said with a bitter laugh. "All you _want _is to save face in front of all your friends and let them keep on believing that this family is perfect in every single way!"

"I will not allow you to talk to your mother like that," Lucius told him sternly.

"What are you going to do about it?" challenged Draco. "Kill me? I wouldn't put something like that past you. Maybe after I'm gone, you and Mother will have another child, since the first was such a failure. I'm sure you'll get it right the second time around." He stepped back from his mother's grasp and walked swiftly to the living room.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lucius demanded.

"Away from here. Away from _you._" Draco took a pinch of glittering Floo powder out of an elaborate silver-and-emerald container sitting on the mantelpiece and stepped up to the fireplace.

"Young man, don't you dare!" said his father, and Draco could see he was reaching for his wand. The bastard wouldn't hesitate to use spells on his own son, that was for sure.

"Draco, please!" Narcissa wailed. "You don't want to do this!"

"Actually," Draco corrected her calmly, "this was something I've wanted to do since a long, long time ago." Quickly, before Lucius could cast a spell on him, he threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green, and he stepped into it. It felt like a warm breeze. 

"The Leaky Cauldron!" he shouted, naming the first place he could think of.


End file.
